Ladies Man (Manwhore #4)(12)

He kicks off his shoes.

“You’re not planning to stay here, are you?”

He raises a brow and grabs the remote from the coffee table. “In case you don’t feel well. Get crampy and shit.” He quotes me, smirking.

I frown.

He turns on the TV. And the last show I had been watching, Vikings, flares on the screen.

Reluctantly I admire the man on the screen, and then the man on the couch in my apartment. Both so raw, so blond, so virile. One of them—the one in my apartment—wreaking havoc with my lungs.

“You look like him, you know,” I say in a bit of an accusatory tone. “Ragnar. That hunting look in your eyes. You don’t look polished even in your business suits. You look like you belong somewhere outside.” Wild and untamed. “Like a Neanderthal.”

He frowns back, then pats the couch. “Come here.”

“I’m not a dog, don’t tell me ‘come here.’”

But I go anyway, kicking my shoes off and dropping at his side. He wraps his arm around me and I feel myself stiffen. His chest is like a wall. He smooths his hand down my arm and chuckles softly. “Come on, relax,” he whispers, his smile accidentally grazing my ear.

It feels insanely good just to be held—no expectations, no sexy times ahead, just being held. My eyes flutter closed, relaxation seeping into my bones.

“I can’t afford this apartment anymore,” I tell him. “I’m not renewing my lease. Wynn is moving in with Emmett, and I really don’t feel like acquiring a roommate. I’m going to look for a new place, a small one, just for me.”

I hadn’t realized I was stroking his chest. He’s watching me with a heavy-lidded gaze. The air thickens with awareness.

Our eyes hold.

His expression is so hungry, and inside that gaze is that primitive look, so intense it borders on pain.

“I should go,” he says softly.

“You should,” I say just as softly.

He releases me reluctantly, then grabs his jacket and leaves without another word.



*



Minutes later, Tahoe stands in my doorway with his jacket still in hand, his other hand shoved into the pocket of his dark-wash jeans, that navy-blue sweater draped sexily over his chest.

“Your doorman let me back in.”

I feel myself stand like a sleepwalker, getting sucked into his gaze. “I can see that.”

He shuts the door behind him. “I’m spending the night.”

“You are? I mean…no, really, you’re not.”

He walks back in and throws his jacket on the couch we’d been sitting on and starts to prowl my place like some beast on the loose. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“There—” I point down the hall, stunned when he immediately heads in that direction. “But what are you doing?”

“Look, I’ve probably got a shit-ton of girls still back at my place. I really don’t feel like playing the player tonight.”

“I don’t care what you feel like. I don’t feel like having you—”

He lies on my bed.

“—lie on my bed and—”

He takes off his shoes, wearing no socks; his feet are sexy.

“—and putting your feet on my—”

He puts his feet up and jerks off his sweater, and he’s suddenly bare-chested and I struggle to talk.

“—on my, on my… No! Don’t get under the covers!”

He gets under the covers, barefoot, bare-chested, in his jeans. And then he smirks and shoves one muscled arm under the sheets, and then I see him toss his jeans into the corner.

I grab a pillow and sigh, dropping onto the other side of the bed.

“Get under,” he says, no-nonsense.

“Wait, what?”

“Get under the sheets. You’ll have a warm bed tonight, Regina.”

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out.

Cuddling and a warm bed…friends do that, too, right?

I swallow, head to my bathroom, close the door, brush my teeth, and look at my face in the mirror. I still have my makeup on, but not as perfectly as I’d like. I find myself retouching, my hands trembling and I don’t know why. I certainly don’t plan to sleep with him. Ever.

He had his chance.

We had our chance.

We’re friends now.

I head out and jerk off my dress, slip into a T-shirt, feeling him watch me as I remove my bra from under my shirt. I toss it aside and climb onto the bed. It squeaks as I lift the covers and slide in.

He opens his arm, smiling a harmless smile, but the look in his eyes… God, that’s as harmless as the look of a demon. Even when I see all sorts of things lurking there—darkly in his gaze—I am tempted to trust him. Trust that despite his male reactions to me, he’s more determined to be friends.

But I don’t want to be haunted by what it feels like to lie in those arms with veined muscles popping out, so I shake my head. “Don’t get touchy-touchy on me, alright? I like my space.”

“Your space?” He chuckles and smirks. “I happen to be in your space, Regina. I thought you liked cuddling and warm beds?”

“Beds warmed by lovers, not by guy friends. By the way, I’m really glad we’re friends,” I admit as I get settled under the blanket but make sure our bodies don’t touch. I get a glimpse of black tight boxers and long male legs and instantly jerk my gaze away when I feel a pinch between my legs.